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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28351197">breathe and drown | atomic blonde au</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariamore/pseuds/ariamore'>ariamore</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Atomic Blonde (2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Canon Gay Relationship, Canon Lesbian Relationship, F/F, Gay Character, What-If</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:55:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,041</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28351197</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariamore/pseuds/ariamore</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>People breathe, and they drown at the same time. It was Delphine’s smile and her scent and her tan body, tangled in Lorraine’s sheets, tangled in Lorraine— fuck, Lorraine missed that. Maybe Delphine was writing all of Lorraine’s fears across her skin, without ever having to listen to Lorraine’s answer.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lorraine Broughton/Delphine Lasalle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>breathe and drown | atomic blonde au</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>the world is a heap of people, a sea of tiny flames. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>i. </strong>
</p><p>Outside of the apartment building, the streetlights glowed like a sigh against the storm, and Delphine was thinking. Lorraine had just asked her something, and the radio rumbled with static on the nightstand. </p><p>“I’ve always wanted to be a poet.”</p><p>Delphine’s murmur almost lulled Lorraine, but she blinked back at her anyways.</p><p>“A poet?”</p><p>Delphine hummed in reply, face tilting upwards, dark lashes fluttering against the curve of Lorraine’s shoulder.</p><p>“But not just <em>any</em> poet,” she went on, grinning a little. “Not like those old, worn men, talking about plants and bugs and whatnot—”, she paused, thinking, knowing— “I’d write <em>real</em> poetry.”</p><p>“Yeah? And what’s that?” Lorraine’s lips attempted to mirror Delphine’s expression, but she pulled in the cigarette into her mouth instead.</p><p>“The poetry of skin,” Delphine answered, like a sigh, and a truth. Her grin had widened, and her hands would’ve moved to follow her words if they weren’t laced around Lorraine’s body. “The rhyme of a glance,” she went on, easy. “The poetry of lips, of eyes. And… of love, most of all.”</p><p>There was a glint to Delphine’s brown gaze, the color of a night swallowed by fire. Lorraine was taken back to the moment they met— the sway of Delphine’s hips, her voice under the neon lights of the bar, <em>God— </em>it was enough to make Lorraine go beyond crazy, more than enough to drive her past her initial suspicions. Just enough to make her want to fuck Delphine senseless between songs and in the light and the dark.</p><p>Even then, Lorraine remained silent for three heartbeats, already losing herself in the husk of this rookie French agent’s words, in the mellow syllables trickling from her tongue, in the wisps of perfume curling into her face when Delphine rose to kiss her.</p><p>“Have you ever been in love?”</p><p>Delphine asked it six heartbeats after she had pulled away. It sounded like a statement. But it was still a question, nonetheless. Lorraine blinked, still processing the aftershocks of Delphine’s touch and her lips and <em>Delphine</em>.</p><p>“I don’t do that, Lasalle.”</p><p>“Do what?” The corner of her mouth drew back in a smirk. “Conversations?”</p><p>“No,” Lorraine said as she exhaled a silvery breath of smoke. “Fall in love. Even if I wanted to, I’d never have the time for it. Never had it, either.”</p><p>“<em>Ooh.</em>” Delphine giggled, the glint in her gaze glowing brighter. “So <em>dramatic</em>. But, seriously, though,—” she added, propping herself halfway up on the scattered bedsheets to peer at Lorraine directly. “Not once? Not even when you were a teenager?”</p><p>“You’re making it sound as if it’s mandatory,” Lorraine pointed out with arched a brow. “Have <em>you</em> ever fallen in love?”</p><p>“A few times, yes,” Delphine nodded, easily sincere.</p><p>“What was it like?”</p><p>Delphine appeared to pause, as if gathering her words while she fidgeted with a loose curl at Lorraine’s neck.</p><p>“It’s… the best, and the worst thing in the world,” Delphine admitted, dropping into a murmur. “At the same time. Until you get your heart broken. Then it just becomes the worst thing ever.”</p><p>“Someone broke your heart before?” Lorraine asked, unaware that her voice had lowered to match Delphine’s.</p><p>“Something like that.” Without another word, she rose from the bed. Barefoot, she reached the other side of the room, pulled a new bottle from the ice bucket and a wineglass from the closet.</p><p>“Was it an agent?” Lorraine watched, a little entranced, as Delphine popped the bottle open at the countertop. She didn’t glance back at Lorraine.</p><p>“No, no. Long before that.” Her lips were full, stained a deep red after she swallowed at least thrice from the bottle’s mouth, then trickled the alcohol into the glass and handed it to Lorraine. “But it’s— it’s not important.”</p><p>“It doesn’t sound like it,” Lorraine pointed out quietly, after Delphine let out the tiniest sniffle while staring out the window.</p><p>“He… he asked me to marry him. I was nineteen, and we’d been together since high school.” She paused, joining Lorraine’s side again and resting her head above Lorraine’s chest, where her heart lay. “He didn’t want to wait, but he said he would. He promised, and it was fucking delusional— <em>I</em> was.” Her voice quivered a little, growing thinner by the second. Her gaze flickered aimlessly at the ceiling. “Back then, I worked at a supermarket a few blocks away— the night shift. Until my boss let me go home early, and—” She cleared her throat, scarcely an octave of a sound. “Found him with another woman in our bed.”</p><p>“… Wow.” Lorraine paused before adding—out of impulse more than anything— “What an absolute mother<em>fucker</em>.”</p><p>To her surprise and delight, a weak laugh escaped Delphine, and she nodded.</p><p>“What’s the word for it, in French?” Lorraine asked. “Motherfucker?”</p><p>“<em>Enfoiré</em>.”</p><p>“Enfoi<em>ré</em>,” Lorraine repeated, quite slowly— all to make Delphine smile again, if even a little. Lorraine mirrored her expression when she did. “He was the greatest <em>enfoiré</em> of all. That’s what he was.” She ran her thumb gently across the corner of Delphine’s left eye, where a tear had just begun to trickle into her cheek.</p><p>“What are you thinking?” Delphine murmured when Lorraine went silent for five heartbeats, returning her gaze.</p><p>“I’m thinking, he’s lucky he’s not around anymore. Or I’d shoot him twice in the balls.”</p><p>A snort of laughter escaped Delphine, and she blinked up at Lorraine, her gaze fuller, gradually recovering once more. “I’d do it, too.”</p><p>“I’m <em>also</em> thinking you should go back to sleep,” Lorraine added, brushing a stray brown curl from Delphine’s face.</p><p>“Yeah, maybe.” Delphine stifled a yawn, then let her head return to the curve of Lorraine’s neck. “So… you’ve really never been in love? I think,” her voice grew even quieter, then, “despite everything, I think love is the only thing worth living for. Or dying for.”</p><p>Lorraine hummed, something between an agreement and a fact. Something upon what Delphine just suggested, with the shift in her tone.</p><p>“I’m not afraid of love,” Lorraine told her.</p><p>“Then… what are you afraid of?”</p><p>Delphine’s fingers traced across Lorraine’s skin, words Lorraine couldn’t see. Words she couldn’t decipher yet. Words that, deep down, Lorraine really wanted to decipher. Maybe she was writing all of Lorraine’s fears across her skin, without ever having to listen to Lorraine’s answer.</p><p>“Of having it… and then losing it.”</p><p>Delphine paused, craning her neck to meet Lorraine’s liquid blue gaze.</p><p>“When you tell the truth, you look different,” she pointed out, smile and all. As if she’d just discovered something, and maybe she really had. “Your eyes change.”</p><p>“Thanks for the warning,” Lorraine smirked, only half joking.</p><p>Delphine tipped her head. “What do you mean?”</p><p>“I mean, I better not do it again.” Lorraine sighed, finding Delphine’s left hand and lacing it with hers, one thumb over the other.</p><p>A twinkle had grown in Delphine’s eyes, more curious than not. “Why?”</p><p>Lorraine breathed the answer out, unconsciously drawing Delphine closer to herself.</p><p>“‘Cause it’s going to get me killed one day.” </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>ii.</b>
</p><p>
  <em>You shouldn’t have.</em>
</p><p>Lorraine chewed on her lower lip. <em>You shouldn’t have asked for it.</em> Now, she had it. She had Lasalle’s number. But <em>wanting</em> it was another matter. Lorraine regretted it. The brisk dawn breeze whipped at her coat, at her pale hair. People wrapped in thick scarfs and hot winter breathing walked in her direction and in the opposite one, but Lorraine paid no attention to them. Her mind kept replaying those three words like a prayer, over and over, as if their meaning would change— as if they would change everything. As if they would’ve changed what happened. <em>You shouldn’t have</em>. Until.</p><p>She returned to the apartment, and Delphine was gone. The bed was made, the empty wine bottle still floating inside the melted ice bucket. The windows were closed, the curtains shut. Lorraine almost missed the slip of paper facing the ceiling—<em> a photograph,</em> she mused, when she approached. It wasn’t new, but it wasn’t old, either. She picked it up, sat at the edge of the bed, and saw her hair, her sunglasses. The gray coat she’d worn the day she arrived in Berlin. She had noticed Lasalle right after. About to put it back on the nightstand, a few neat scribbles in black ink on the other side caught her eye.</p><p>
  <em>the world is a heap of people. a sea of tiny flames.</em>
</p><p>A little lower, and a smaller note, saying—<em> this isn’t mine, actually. it’s hughes galeano. but it makes me think of how people live. how they breathe, and they drown at the same time.</em></p><p>People breathe and drown at the same time. Those words —<em>Delphine</em>’s words— they lingered in Lorraine’s mind like the aftershocks of the French agent’s touch. And she wondered if this was how missing someone felt like. Delphine’s smile and her scent and her body, her tan, golden legs tangled in Lorraine’s sheets, tangled in <em>Lorraine</em>— fuck, Lorraine missed that.</p><p>
  <em>Maybe I could call her.</em>
</p><p>Lorraine hung her coat, until— a rough patch touched her thumb, and she paused. A bug. A fucking <em>bug</em>. What— <em>when</em>—</p><p>She didn’t breathe as she tore the fabric apart, her nails ripping through layer and layer until the tiny black device was revealed. The size alone was enough to make Lorraine’s ribs dig into her lungs. In her mind, the name <em>Percival</em> blared louder than the radio on the nightstand, no longer murmuring static— but spewing some kind of acoustic German screams that followed her heart until the softest, husky <em>hello?</em> sounded from the other side of the phone. Lorraine still struggled to breathe— <em>she picked up she actually picked up</em>—</p><p>“I found a bug— <em>Percival</em>—” Lorraine choked out and crushed the device with the empty wine bottle in a single blow, all in the same heartbeat.</p><p>“… <em>Shit.” </em>Delphine had sounded groggy— now, she was everything but. “<em>Shit, Lorraine. Are you sure it was him? Have you destroyed it? I’m— I’m coming over right now. I have—</em>”</p><p>“You can’t,” Lorraine hissed, finally exhaling when the listening device was fully splintered across her nightstand. God knows if the static worked to block out their conversations— not just about poetry, but the mission itself. <em>Everything</em>— the List. <em>The fucking List</em>. “Delphine, you <em>can’t</em>. Wherever you are, stay there. I’ll deal with Percival on my own. I came here for the List, and I <em>will</em> get it—”</p><p>“—<em>Lorraine</em>.” Delphine’s voice had changed, and something in it made Lorraine take a breath and quiet down as she continued. “<em>I took some photographs of Percival— he was in a meeting with Bremovych, two hours ago. He’s in for himself, but if I can convince him of having these pictures and get him to cooperate, I’ll leave the rest to you.”</em></p><p>A pause.</p><p>“<em>But you have to trust me</em>.”</p><p>Where her mouth curved into a throat, Lorraine ached. Blood pounded in her ears<em> trust me trust me trust me</em> but—</p><p>“<em>Lorraine,</em>” Delphine breathed, “<em>we’re wasting time</em>.” This time, Lorraine registered the urgency in her voice.</p><p>“Just— be careful,” Lorraine croaked, not really aware of the truth in her words until they cracked through her teeth. “I <em>trusted</em> him and now he’s going to fuck everything up, Delphine. You have to call me as soon as you finish. Please.”</p><p>“<em>Okay. Okay, I will. I promise.</em>”</p><p>The line died and something burned behind Lorraine’s eyes— she couldn’t blink it away, she couldn’t drag another bottle of vodka from the fridge because she had to wait for Delphine’s call and she had to be sober and <em>when did everything go wrong— when you set foot in Berlin—</em></p><p>
  <em>You already knew what the fuck you were getting into.</em>
</p><p>The ice burned and floated across her skin and Lorraine forced herself underwater. She held her breath and opened her eyes, lashes stinging, chest searing as if her ribs had twisted from the inside out. Delphine must be speaking with him now, while her cigar consumed itself at the edge of the bathtub. <em>That piece of shit—</em></p><p>He had the List. It sounded like an afterthought, something she would mumble or lull in her sleep. But it was <em>true it was true </em>and it splintered every other thought like thunder, it made Lorraine’s head break through the surface and gasp in air like another truth—</p><p>
  <em>Percival has the List.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>iii.</b>
</p><p>She wasn’t answering. Fourteen minutes had gone by and Delphine wasn’t answering her phone. <em>Something’s wrong everything’s wrong he didn’t believe her something happened—</em></p><p>The door slammed at Lorraine’s heels as she scampered out of the apartment— and Delphine was everywhere. Her gaze hung over Lorraine like stars scribbled messily on the Milky Way, her name on Lorraine’s phone screen like a self-contradictory graffiti, her voice like the taste burning at the back of Lorraine’s tongue— and Lorraine was caught in the middle of it all.</p><p>If hearts were engines then hers was erratic.</p><p>“<em>Delphine</em>—”</p><p>A body. Twisted, feebly facing the carpeted floor, eyes rolled to their— <em>her</em>— skull. A body, weak under the ceiling lights, blood like water immersed in her clothes.</p><p>Her name died in Lorraine’s throat and she didn’t move, not when Lorraine flung the apartment door open and her gun pointed everywhere. Beads of sweat chilled at Lorraine’s spine and she still didn’t move, not when Lorraine approached and her knees collapsed to the floor, and— <em>fuck</em>.</p><p>Seconds. Minutes. Time, time—<em> "trust me".</em></p><p>“Delphine,” Lorraine croaked again, heart embedded with nails sinking further and further, pain like a mouth with three sets of teeth— ravaging whatever scraps of Lorraine were left in herself. One of Delphine’s shoulders was exposed, her dark shirt ripped and lopsided, her hair a mess. Her eyes— closed. Her camera lay shattered at one corner of the room, when Lorraine looked up from Delphine in her arms, and noticed the window’s shards caught the light along the broken lens.</p><p>When Lorraine looked down at Delphine again, she almost imagined her eyes had fluttered partly open. And Lorraine said nothing. At first, she said nothing— until Delphine blinked.</p><p>“W-<em>why</em>,” Delphine whispered, like a question and a statement. As if it were the only thing she could manage to say, and maybe it was. <em>Why are you here why did you come why didn't you wait why<span class="Apple-converted-space">—</span></em></p><p>Lorraine almost choked on nothing.<em> You’re alive you’re alive and Percival didn’t— but he almost—</em></p><p>“Because I can’t lose you yet,” Lorraine breathed, “or— or ever.”</p><p>“Oh.” Delphine’s eyes were glazed, but full. She paused, her throat bobbed once as she swallowed. “He—he didn’t have a gun, and… and I did.”</p><p>Realization settled in Lorraine’s much faster than she expected. There was a trail of blood coming from the bathroom, as if Delphine had dragged herself and then fallen to the floor closest to the bed. Her fingertips were smeared red as she reached for Lorraine’s face, and her wrist staggered, cold until Lorraine’s hand curled around it.</p><p>“He didn’t— he didn’t have a gun,” Delphine repeated, and it sounded like a curse. Like— <em>self-defense</em>.</p><p>“He came to kill <em>you</em>,” Lorraine replied. “And we don’t play by the rules. There aren’t any, Delphine. Not for us.”</p><p>Delphine sighed, long and slow, edged with a wince.</p><p>“I— you need a hospital,” Lorraine began, noticing the purple streaks lining Delphine’s throat— the blood dripping from her shirt and onto the carpet—</p><p>“The blood isn’t mine.” Delphine’s eyes closed, then opened again. “I shot him here, and then dragged him to the bathroom. He bled on the way. His— his body’s slumped against the sink. And…” She paused, her other hand moving to pull something under her hipbone. </p><p>Lorraine’s breath hitched as soon as she saw it. The golden wristwatch was stained, but still ticked.</p><p>“I told him I’d never killed anyone before, while he was choking me with a wire. He believed me, I think— until I shot him after that.”</p><p><em>Wow</em>.</p><p>“Well, if the poetry thing doesn’t work out, you could always be an actress,” Lorraine suggested, and a tired smile broke through Delphine’s lips as she placed the watch in Lorraine’s palm.</p><p>“Do you know how to open it? Because I don’t,” Delphine admitted with a faint chuckle.</p><p>“I will,” Lorraine nodded. “But, in the meantime— I’ll make sure the blood isn’t yours, and get rid of the body.”</p><p>“You’ll take it to the sea?” A glow of amusement spread across Delphine’s face when Lorraine arched a brow. “What?” Her smile grew fuller. “It’s more dramatic.”</p><p>“Yeah, I suppose that’s kind of my thing now, isn’t it?” Lorraine smirked.</p><p>She had wet a towel and touched it to the marks Percival had imprinted on Delphine’s skin. No ribs or other bones were broken, nothing dislocated. At least, nothing physical, anyways. When Lorraine returned from disposing Percival’s corpse, she returned to find Delphine gazing at the ceiling, her lower lip reddened as if she’d been biting it— as if the painkillers Lorraine had given her hadn’t been enough.</p><p>“What will you do with it?” Delphine asked in a murmur when Lorraine picked the wristwatch apart, to reveal the slip of paper with countless names printed on it. Every single spy working in Berlin, including Delphine and her own name.</p><p>“I’ll probably burn it, or kill Bremovych. Or, maybe both.” While Lorraine spoke, she brushed a stray curl of dark hair from Delphine’s face, tucking it behind her ear. Her insides still burned as if she’d swallowed gasoline. She had to take the List back to the US— and yet, there were <em>many</em> things she was supposed to do, and didn’t give a single shit about them.</p><p>“And… after that?” Delphine’s gaze searched hers. An endless brown, so profound that Lorraine wondered, before, if she was getting lost in it. Now, she knew she would never lose herself. Not in her eyes. </p><p>“After that,” Lorraine murmured, her lips hovering over Delphine’s, skin like fire without even touching her yet. “We’ll get the fuck out of here. And you’ll be the <em>best</em> poet the world has ever seen.”</p><p>
  <em>Life is like an ocean. Breathing and drowning, at the same time.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And, still. Somehow, we survive.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>yeah &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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